Did I have to come this wasteland? Place of no-things, loss and aloneness, just so I could really see?
Even once I’d arrived, was it necessary to strip away any last vestiges of safety and comfort? Key lifelines, no matter how tenuous, taken too?
Nothing grows here. Nothing happens. There’s a silence I can hardly stand.
A dusty dustbowl, static frozen representations of what my life once was. Kind of like those movie special effects, where someone has the power to stop time. I can move around, but nothing else does. You think it’d be cool for a while, and it is. Then, it’s more horrifying than anything else.
There’s no activity. Nothing to say or do.
Just try going about your regular (haha!) activities. Go on. Nothing here is conducive shielding the eyes from clear understanding.
Distractions lose their lustre. No shine or pleasure. Can’t hold my interest, I have no interest. Its nil, zilch, de nada.
There’s many tears, as always. But I don’t know what I’m crying for any longer.
Much as I’ve always respected crying for the great relief it offers, just maybe I’m getting a little sick of that, too.
I’ve heard it said before, but you should never reveal your secret identity, coz it always backfires somehow. And now I’ve learnt that lesson for myself.
Seems at the heart of the matter, are my over-powering desires that still, after all this time, rely on some kind of confirmation. The samskaras that rule my disposition in this birth push so hard, especially now.
It’s enough to drive a person insane.
The harder I try, the more confusing things become. Or is that, the less I try? The difference appears to be lost on me right now.
So I’ve stopped. I am stopping.
Is this all that’s left?
Funny how, people can show such disaffection and/or lack of care, isn’t it? But take part of their life away, and they’re devastated. Even if that part was only tiny and relatively unimportant. It was still something that contributed to their view of life, how they relate to everything and everyone.
Really, if there was an easy way, I’d take it. No hesitation. I’m so familiar with struggle these days, perhaps I wouldn’t recognise it now, even if it did show up?
The worst thing about all this is that no one can help me. No one. I want to be helped so badly – part of my problem, actually. I want to be able to rely on other people, but repeatedly I’ve seen how that just leads to more heartache.
I am an ocean of intensity and neediness. I am relentlessly in need of love and affection that never arrives. Or when a facsimile appears, I’ll take it. But later I always discover it was just a copy… because it never lasts.
Nothing ever does.
There’s no hand, no shoulder, just… other people also in pain and struggling and they can’t help me either. It’s understandable, really.
So I take it all back. I have to. Because I didn’t know that heartache could make your entire body hurt.
Just gonna hang out here in nowhere land a little longer…